


Superior

by magicites



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bright red, cool blue. Impulsive, driven, and completely insecure.</p><p>[A series of unrelated Vriska/Karkat drabbles.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in this chapter for abusive relationships and mind control.

You've always lived the way you enjoy your FLARP sessions, fast and dangerous. Nearly every single aspect of your life reflects this, as constant as the rise and fall of moons that have long since died.

Even your romantic endeavours follow that trend, both past and present. You agreed to a moirallegiance with Kanaya out of a small desire to finally be able to take a break, but her attempts were like trying to capture light in a bottle. You're not some firefly she can capture and hold close to her bloodpusher that's just too fucking big (holds too much love for everyone, you don't understand how she can be close to so many other people); you're the sun, ready to incinerate anyone who dares to come too close.

You guess that's what happened to Tavros. You drew him in, but he was too weak and pathetic to withstand you. He burned to a bloody, muddy crisp in the end, tossed away like the useless trash he is.

(You wish you could apologize.)

Somehow you fell ass-first into an entanglement of black and red feelings with Karkat, of all trolls. You could understand if it was Terezi or even Kanaya, but they're both too selfish to give you a second glance now. And after all you've went through together, too. Why throw that all away and leave you with the mutant? You don't understand.

It's easier, when he's black for you. He's sat you down in his bullshit, fakey-fake therapist chair and dissected a million issues you clearly don't have, calling you "broken" and "unable to feel true black feelings for anyone." You throw it back in his face whenever you can, because he's a fucking idiot and sometimes you hate him so much you can feel your rage boil underneath your skin.

The injuries you can deal with. Badly-aimed kicks and punches are things you easily avoid, only to send those same punches back at him eight-fold. Bites and scratches land more often, but you're tougher than you look and he rarely, if ever, gets the satisfaction of seeing your blood stain your skin.

He winces whenever you make him bleed, but the weakness is only temporary before he's back to his usual state of rage, screaming obscenities that you ignore. You tease and you taunt, pushing him back into a frenzied mess.

And if he ever tries to get the upper hand, all it takes is a little mental dumpster diving and he's right back where you want him.

But that always leads to the same fucking thing. The same hurt expression that completely wipes the scowl off of his stupid, punchable face. It twists your gut in ways that drive you mad, and you hate him so much for doing this to you.

Mostly you hate how no matter how hard you try, you can't really hate him. You slip right back into redrom, offering muttered apologies and hugs that squish his face right into your shoulder.

He doesn't cry, hates to look weak in front of you, so he focuses his attention onto you so he can escape his thoughts. You've poked into his mind a few times when he's like this, but it's all ragged glass shards of self-hatred and all it does is make you pity this idiot even harder.

(It reminds you a bit of yourself, on days where you stop and let yourself think about what you've done, both now and in the past. You won't ever tell him you understand.)

In times like that, he takes your hand, whispers that you need to get cleaned up or else it'll get infected, you pompous grubfucker, I'm surprised you haven't died yet.

You laugh, and remind him that of course you don't get infections, how could you when you have all the luck? Something as silly as a few lame bacteria couldn't possibly hope to take you down.

Then he tries to take care of you, to clean you up and brush your hair and wipe the grime off your soiled, bloody hands, and you remember why you hate flipping into redrom. He takes care of you, coddles you and holds you close when you don't need anyone to. You don't need a matesprit to look after you, or wrap themselves around you when you feel upset because apparently he can tell whenever you're upset. It's the same face he uses when he wants to hide from the world, he whispers into your hair, and you don't advance, you abscond.

You don't need to be taken care of. You dodge his affection with laughter and sneers and prods to everything he holds dear to his heart. You wait for him to adopt that condescending, nagging tone a freakshow like him has no right to use, and then you pounce.

You tease him for his blood color. You tease him over his failure with Terezi, and every small crush he's ever had that fizzled out in a pathetic spark. You tease him over his failure as a leader, over the fact that he couldn't hold all of you together.

(When you do, you think back to brown covering your hands, your face, matted into your hair. You hope your words hurt him more than they hurt you.)

He's manipulated back into flipping black for you. It's easier to handle that way, because you're too focused on being better than him to feel guilty over stringing him along.

Maybe one day, you'll fess up to what you've been doing. You'll settle right into red, and it won't stifle you or feel too uncomfortable. Maybe you can give up the idea of redrom and adopt that human romance that works out so nicely in the movies. He'll be the blonde human woman to your grizzled Nic Cage (because duh, he may have been the leader but you're the hero of the story), and it'll work out nicely.

Maybe one day you'll let him clean you up and try to wash your hands of all the blood and grime. It won't work, but you can give him points for trying.

You wait for the day he'll burn to a crisp under your heat, give up and slink off just like everyone else. Leave you to clean up the mess alone.

For now, as he tries to find a rag to clean your face off with, you walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and kiss his horns until he gives up his search and gives in to the pleasant sensation.

(You win again, even if you want to lose for once.)


	2. and for you, i'd wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> snowstorms and the dumbasses that go out in them are very worrying things.

You’ve never seen a more intense snowstorm in your measly, pathetic life. Flurries of white cover the windows, sneak their way down the chimney; they infiltrate your once-cozy house any way they can. You start a fire, just to hear the hiss of steam as renegade snow tries and fails to fuck up your warm home.

Vriska left this morning. Just to go to the supermarket, because you ran out of chips, and she said she’d rather die than go without sour cream and onion Lays.

In retrospect, that statement is much more worrying than you originally thought it would be.

Time seems to crawl by. First she’s gone only an hour, but then the clock measures two, and then three. Each second is the pounding of blood in your ears, each minute the nervous shake of your fingers as you try to call her cell phone over and over.

No service.

The store is only 20 minutes away, and that’s including the trip there and back.

You’re going fucking insane with worry, you can feel it. “Vriska, I swear to fuck,” you say to the refrigerator as you sort through it, trying desperately to distract yourself with something (anything), “if you died because of something as stupid as a fucking weather change, I will travel down to hell just to beat the shit out of your sorry, frozen soul.”

You try to pour yourself a glass of milk, but your hands shake badly, and you spill it everywhere.

It splashes all over the counters, dripping down onto the floor in a steady stream of white. You swear loudly, and grab the papertowels, wiping it up to the best of your ability.

You’re down on your hands and knees when you hear the door open. “Karkat?” Vriska’s voice sounds, and you abandon cleaning your sorry mistakes in favor of running towards her at full speed.

You come to a stop right in front of her. She looks down at you, bewildered. Her family-size bag of chips has bits of ice stuck to it. You wipe them off, send them scattering to the floor where they shatter instantly.

Realization dawns on her face, and she grins. “You were worried, weren’t you?”

“Fuck off and die,” you say, no venom in your words, only relief. You take the bag of chips, throw them somewhere behind you.

She makes a sound that is too similar to a squawk for your liking.

You wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her harder than you ever have before.


	3. and it's been a year, a year or so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dead girls and the dreambubbles sad boys visit.

You had stopped counting the days a long time ago. Day in, and day out, you can’t even tell the difference anymore. There’s no sun to measure it by, no accurately timed clock to look at, only archaic logs that are sometimes too painful to read. Dave rattles off how many days have passed since “shit went down” once in a while, but his announcements become more erratic as he grows up.

You don’t know how long Vriska’s been dead when you finally encounter her dreambubble. Strangely enough, it’s not one that the entire ship passes through. It’s one that you enter during a short nap you took in order to escape the crushing feeling of boredom enveloping everyone and everything you encounter.

You find yourself in a plain, grassy field. An old FLARPing area, going by Terezi’s stories about back then. Vriska is a little ways away, examining something on the ground.

As you come closer, you realize it’s a torn piece of fabric. Teal and bright red; obviously something Terezi would wear.

She speaks, a question clearly addressed to you despite not moving at all. “It’s been a long time since I died, hasn’t it.”

You nod. “I think so, at least.”

“Does anyone talk about me?” Terezi and Kanaya, she means.

“No, not really.”

“Do you?”

You shift. “Occasionally. I didn’t like you much, Serket, but we must have become friends in some bizarre offshoot timeline, so I guess that counts.”

You can’t see her face, hidden behind a curtain of matted hair. “Maybe we can be friends now.” She drops the piece of cloth and looks over to you, eyes guarded but willing to trust you.

It feels like you have to prove yourself, but you’re not sure how.

So you step closer, and reach out to help her up. “I don’t mind staying here for a little longer,” you say. “Anything to escape the cacophony of idiots there.”

She takes your hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied Karkat/Terezi, Vriska/Eridan, Vriska/Kanaya....pretty much every canon ship for Karkat and Vriska that involves the other trolls and was either canon or one-sided.

“She’s like a walking disaster,” Kanaya tells you, a little breathless, a little awe-struck, “she’s a tornado that can’t be stopped.”

“Then why the fuck are you so intent on getting a piece of her bulge?” You shoot back, a little confused, a little upset. Vriska is the only troll out of your group of friends that you’ve never met face-to-face, but you’ve heard more than enough horror stories to get a picture of just how horrible this girl is.

You hear it from Terezi, from Tavros; from anyone and everyone who’s ever had the misfortune of seeing the wicked grin she pulls when she’s about to wreak havoc; of feeling the sharp talons of manipul8ion sink into their mind.

She’ll grow up to be the ideal troll, you realize. She’ll slit your throat without a second thought if she ever had the inkling that it would benefit her somehow. She’d haul your mutant ass right to the Condese’s feet if it could net her a bounty. You’re almost glad that she doesn’t ever stop causing trouble long enough to focus her gaze on you.

Almost.

You admire her, in some twisted way. You admire her courage and her bravado and the fact that the air of danger that she wraps herself in is always translated to desire, to beauty.

So many of your friends harbor some sort of feelings for her.

“She’s a horrible, despicable girl, Kar,” Eridan whines to you one day, when you’re sitting on the floor of his hive and his lusus is doting over you just as heavily as it dotes over him. No, you don’t need anything, you’re fine, you don’t need another fucking roe cube. “She destroys anythin’ in her fuckin’ way and laughs the entire time. I wanna rip that smug look off a her face whenever I see her.”

“That’s why you’re her fucking kismesis. It’s your job,” you say, a little exasperated. You’re fine with his constant gossiping, and hey, maybe you even enjoy it a little, but he’s a fucking sap and you want to do something that’ll actually entertain you now.

He sighs dreamily. “I know, Kar. It’s fuckin’ great. I’ve never had so much fun before her.”

Kanaya may be her moirail, but anyone with a single functioning brain cell can tell that her feelings are a brighter red than the candy sludge pumping through your body. Too bad Vriska doesn’t even have that.

As for Terezi…you’re not even sure if Terezi herself knows what she feels. The moment the name Vriska Serket is mentioned, she gets this funny little frown on her face - her lips twist a little, and her eyes narrow behind her glasses.

“Come on, Terezi. You can’t hide from your feelings forever. Just fucking spit it out already!” You demand, and she turns away from you.

“I don’t know, ok!?” She snaps. “I don’t know.” Only a person like Vriska could reduce Terezi Pyrope, the girl with a knife-sharp wit and an intuition that even the most powerful physics could only dream of having, to a confused, shambling mess.

“Is it black or is it red?”

She shrugs helplessly. “It’s hard to explain,” she answers finally, and leaves it as that. You decide to label her feelings as mottled. They’re some mixture of red and black, bright and pale and gray and dark, something that you’re not sure if you can understand.

You meet her face to face during the game, and grow closer to her when finally, everyone else pushes her away.

She snatches up your attention with an eagerness that shows just how lonely she is. She’s always been excitable around you, always ready to tease and fluster you.

One day, when you’re forced to work with her and navigate through your land (she comments constantly on the red everywhere, tells you how awesome it is, and while it’s not  _nearly_  as cool as her land it’s still pretty cool), she turns to you with a look that you can’t quite decipher.

“Heeeeeeeey, Karkat!” She says, as if she just noticed you despite the fact that you’ve been together all fucking day.

“What.”

“You know, I’ve realized something!” She says happily.

“Oh, please impart your glorious wisdom on my poor, damaged thinkpan,” you say, with all the sarcasm you can muster. She scoffs, but this doesn’t stop her from continuing whatever ridiculous spiel that’s unfolding in her mind.

“I get why everyone likes you. Why Kanaya is  _soooooooo_  pale for you, why Makara slobbers all over you, why Ampora comes crawling to you the moment things turn sour for him, and even why my dear, precious sister is so red for you!”

You blink, startled. This wasn’t what you were expecting at all.

She leans in closer, grinning at you. There’s a predatory glint in her eyes, like she’s sizing you up and trying to figure out just how deeply she has to sink her fangs into your neck before you die. A cold shiver runs down your spine, setting your nerves on fire.

“It’s because you’re so bright,” she whispers, breath cool against your face. Her fangs glint red from the rivers of candy sludge. “You’re full of passion! It’s exciting.”

“I,” you say, because you’re intelligent and eloquent and a complete fucking idiot.

“I think I’ve caught it too! The Vantas bug, that is,” she clarifies, and despite the fact that she’s no longer whispering, she refuses to lean back and step out of your personal bubble.

“What?”

“You can be so dumb sometimes! Silly, dumb, cute boy,” and she kisses you, right on the lips. You freeze up, but she’s clearly had practice before; she knows just what to do, just how to tilt her face and how to take your’s in her hands and move it just so, how to scrape her fangs against your lips.

You don’t know if this is red or black or what. It’s a mottled, muddy color, something that swirls in vicious tides and runs through your entire body.

“Come on,” she mutters angrily into your mouth, “don’t make me look like an idiot.”

“Too late,” you hiss back, and return the kiss.

She’s beautiful and unpredictable, a supernova just waiting to implode on herself, and now you have no choice but to be caught in the resulting blast. She’s a magnet and you’re the metal she pulls in, a force of nature that can’t be stopped.

She’s caught you under her spell.

And apparently, you’ve caught her under yours as well.


	5. Give me your eyes, I need the sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for massive amounts of blood? I guess?

_i'd take you where nobody knows you_   
_and nobody gives a damn_

AG: I h8 it here.

Vriska messages you that, one day. It's not something you expect at all; at best, she only ever talked to you so she could later tease Terezi about how fucking horrible you were. She's not one to talk to you simply for fun.

She clearly wants something.

So, you ignore her message and send her a request for a video chat instead. After a few moments of waiting (you count out eight beats in your head), she accepts it.

The first thing your ocular globes register is the splash of blue across her face. It's everywhere - matting chunks of her hair together into a sticky paste, covering the hole that seven pupils used to occupy, dried onto her in tacky streaks. You bet if you reached out and touched it, it'd feel gummy against your fingers.

The thought makes you nauseous, but you ignore it to the best of your ability.

She grins at the screen, a brief flash of teeth, and swivels her head to spit out a large glob of blood. "Just lost another tooth!" She announces proudly. "But don't worry. They grow back fast."

"What the fuck happened to you?" You ask. "Better yet, why are you covered in blood? It's disgusting. You're disgusting."

She pouts, and you can't tell if the cobalt on her mouth is lipstick or blood. Maybe it's a mixture of both. "Becaaaaaaaause," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, "this place fucking sucks! And I know you hate it here too."

"Who says I hate it here? Maybe I'm having the time of my life in my cozy little lawnring, touching my bulge to the sight of my neighbors routinely being culled every two weeks!" You respond, snorting at her.

She rolls her eye. "Eeeeeeeexactly! It's dangerous for you here. And, well..." she trails off, gently tapping a finger against her chin. "Let's say that I've made a few too many enemies here to stay safe!"

"Ok, good for you. Everyone finally hates you, just like they should have all along!"

She laughs. "Oh, Karkat! They don't _hate_ me, they're just _afraid_ of what I'll do to them! So they have to put me out of commission before I go back and finish my job!"

"They still want to kill you in the end."

"Yeah." She shrugs. "So I figure I might as well get out of here! You should come with me."

Now this is what you don't understand. She's a relatively simple person to understand (rude, nothing more than a vicious insect waiting to bite), but why would she pick you of all people?

"Why don't you ask someone who actually likes you, Serket," you bark out.

"Awwwwwwww, you like me, don't you?"

"No."

She smirks. "Won't have too much of a choice soon."

It's like she orchestrated what happens next. You hear a large crash, and realize with growing horror that someone just broke your fucking door down. You hear a cacophony of sound below: your lusus screeching, his claws clacking angrily, and a solid, wet crunch.

His dying screech comes a few moments later. You swallow the urge to vomit, and just barely resist your other urge to panic. Vriska watches you intently, entirely too smug for your liking.

You hear heavy footsteps run up your stairs, and know that whatever bulgemold that just killed your fucking lusus is really after you.

You have no choice, as much as you hate to admit it.

"Fine," you say, your voice strained, "I'll go with you, ok? "

She has the fucking audacity to clap her hands together happily, as if your safety is just some joke for her to laugh at (of course it is in her mind, the conniving bitch). She giggles. "Perfect!"

You're reaching for the power button when she gives one final grin.

"See you soon, _buddy_."

It sounds like a curse.


End file.
